Four Things that Never Happened to Giles
by dollsom
Summary: Four Things that Never Happened to Giles in a Kitchen, and One that Might've. The prompt was to write Giles being all domestic. This was the result. Mostly fluff, tempered with angst. Enjoy!
1. This Never Happened

_Written for_: antennapedia's Rupertus Domesticus ficathon on livejournal  
_Rating:_ FRT/PG13  
_Characters, Ships_: Giles/Jenny (natch), Scooby friendship, Giles and Willow friendship.  
_Disclaimer_: I am not Joss.  
_Author's note 1_: The challenge was to write something about Giles being all domestic. I kinda stuck to that... although it gets to be more just stuff happening in kitchens. It's not the bestest thing I've ever written, but it has it's merits.   
_Author's note 2_: If you like notdead!Jenny and Ani, check out Five Things That Never Happened To J., by me, also posted here. The Jenny things fit in the same continuity as these things.  
Reviews: always good.

**Four Things That Never Happened To Giles In A Kitchen, And One That Might've**

1. This Never Happened

Giles arrived home after patrolling with Faith and Buffy to find Jenny leaning against the breakfast bar, a distant expression on her face, lit by the Christmas lights she had insisted on putting up around the flat. Giles had protested about the lights, but she'd insisted, deeming them festive; and once they were up Giles had to agree, though he wouldn't admit it. She hadn't noticed him come in.

"Jenny?" he asked as he approached her.

"Hm?" It seemed like it took her a moment to recognize him. "Oh. Hi."

She barely noticed as he took the mug she was holding out of her hands and took a sip, followed by a grimace.

"Your tea's cold," he informed her. Not only that, but it was chamomile, which he despised.

A disinterested "oh," was her only reply.

This was far from normal. Giles watched her with concern, and was about to ask what was the matter when Jenny spoke.

"Have you ever thought about getting a bigger place?"

"No..." That was the last thing Giles had expected her to say. Jenny had often told him how much she liked his apartment, before she had moved in and it became theirs. "Why?"

"Oh. I, uh, I dunno…" she said vaguely. Then she suddenly added, "There's no room for a washing machine. The loft's..." her eyes drifted upwards "…you could just walk right off there and fall and break your neck."

"Luckily we're both over four feet tall and have fully developed motor control," he regarded her quizzically.

"Yeah, but..." Jenny paused for a moment, blushing, before she went on. "And just the one bedroom…"

Giles didn't know whether to feel hurt or worried, or possibly insulted. He must've looked like something, because when Jenny caught sight of his expression, she was quick to clarify.

"No, I don't mean... I mean, if..." Or at least, she tried to clarify. She didn't actually get to what she meant before she turned away from him, looking instead around the room they stood in. "And the kitchen's really small…"

"You're planning to take up cooking?" Giles was now thoroughly confused.

"Oh, God, no!" Jenny dismissed the idea quickly. "It's just..." she became thoughtful again, "when I was a kid, the kitchen was the heart of the house, you know? It's where family happens," she added wistfully.

Her comments turned Giles' mind back to his own childhood, and the house where he had grown up. It was boarded up and empty now, still in the family but unused; but he remembered when it had encompassed the full extent of his world, and how, indeed, the kitchen had always been filled with good smells and conversation.

A slight smile crossed his face. "I suppose the holidays do tend to bring on a certain nostalgia. "

Jenny had taken his hand in hers, and was softly tracing his fingers. "Actually," she began carefully, "I kinda had the future in mind." Giles turned towards her, a strange mixture of suspicion, excitement, and anxiety rising in his chest. Jenny lifted her eyes to look at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Rupert..."


	2. Neither Did This

2. Neither Did This

Sitting at the breakfast bar, Giles was falling asleep in between sips of coffee.

While Buffy had been fighting they mayor and preventing the Ascension, Jenny, who had fled to Los Angeles with Joyce at Giles' insistence, had given birth to Anastasia. In the three weeks since, Giles had not slept more than two hours together. At first he had been fueled by a giddy excitement with having a little person who was _his_. Then the excitement gave way to a delirious exhaustion. Now, he was simply exhausted. Giles was past the point of being astonished at how messy the apartment could get, all he knew was that it had to be cleaned. He had decided to take a minute for a coffee break; though he had known that the second he stopped moving he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes open, but the caffeine was supposed to counteract that. It would have worked in theory. In practice, he was having trouble staying awake long enough to drink it.

"Hi Giles!" Willow's cheer jolted him from his dazed state. He looked up to see Willow, Xander and Buffy traipsing in.

"Oh, er, uh, h-hello. How nice to see you all," Giles replied. "What are you doing here?" It was summer break, demon activity was low, and Xander was about to set out soon on his quest to see America. Buffy and her friends should have been out enjoying themselves like normal teenagers.

Xander answered, "We just came for our regular dose of infantile cuteness. Where's the li'l goo-goo monster?" he glanced around the living room. Of all the Scoobies, Xander seemed to show the most aptitude with Anastasia. Giles found the fact rather disconcerting.

"Asleep," he told them, rubbing his eyes. "Finally."

Buffy looked at him with sympathy. "Long day?"

"Possibly. I've lost track."

Willow approached the breakfast bar where Giles sat after circling the appartment. "Hey, is Jenny around?"

"She's asleep." Jenny had spent the past few weeks in bed, recovering from severe anemia.

"Oh," Willow sounded disappointed. "Well I brought her these," she said, brightening slightly, and producing a large, red plastic bag, which she set on the counter before Giles. He stared at it a moment before making the connection between the logo and the contents, realizing that it was a club-sized bag of raisins.

Giles looked at Willow over the top of his glasses.

"Cause of the iron!" she explained

"Ah. I'll tell her." Giles was too tired to bother to inform Willow that there was medication for such things. He put Willow's gift away and turned wearily to the dangerously high stack of dishes in the sink, which he had been about to tackle when the idea of a coffee break occurred to him.

"Um, Giles?" he heard Buffy say skeptically, "You just put the rasins in the microwave."

Giles heard the words, but was having trouble piecing together their meaning. "What?"

Buffy appeared at Giles' side, took his arm, and guided him away from the sink.

"Why don't you sit down for a while, let us tidy up," she said gently.

"Tidy? Us?" Xander started to protest, but Buffy silenced him with a look. Willow set to work putting away the random packages of food that had been left lying about.

"That would be greatly appreciated," Giles said, and started towards the door.

Buffy followed. "Where are you going?"

"I should do the laundry while they're asleep," he yawned.

Buffy took his arm again, and with little effort changed course back to the couch in the living room. "No, you should rest."

"But..."

"Um, why is there a mace in the fridge?" came Willow's voice from the kitchen.

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at Giles.

"Maybe I'll lie down for just a bit."


	3. This Too, Never Took Place

3. This Too, Never Took Place

Jenny's cousin, Chrissy, had built the flat as an addition to her own home, with the intention of renting it out for extra income. But when Jenny told her she needed a place to stay for the foreseeable future, Chrissy happily gave her the key. It was perfect: far away from Sunnydale and the hell-god who was currently threatening it, but closer than England, where Giles had wanted to send his family. Chrissy also happened to be the one relative of Jenny's who did not entirely abhor Giles. He met her while helping Jenny move in. She kept up a nice light conversation throughout the day, made dinner for Giles and Jenny and joined them for it. It was evening by the time she returned to her part of the house, time for Jenny to put Anastasia to bed in her new room. Giles stayed in the kitchen, stacking dishes in the dishwasher.

The flat was all drywall and off-whites, sterile and impersonal, and the kitchen was no exception. It was bright and cold and Giles felt like an alien in it. He was glad of Chrissy's departure because it meant he and Jenny could finally have some time to themselves. At the same time, without her constant chatter, Giles had nothing to distract him from the fact that he didn't know when he would see his family next.

Jenny returned, leaned against the counter and watched Giles work.

"Didn't want to see your daughter to bed?" she asked, successfully keeping any trace of bitterness out of her voice.

Giles closed the dishwasher. "Thought I'd try to get used to not being there," he explained softly.

"Oh." Jenny sounded abashed. "How'd you do?"

Giles shrugged in reply. In truth, not even when he had been fired from the Council had he felt so cast adrift. He was dreading going back to Sunnydale alone, going home to his dark apartment, emptied of toys, full of nothing but silence in the absence of a jabbering toddler. He and Jenny never had gotten a bigger place; Giles avoided thinking that perhaps they never would.

They stood in silence, Jenny with her arms crossed defensively, Giles with his hands in his pockets and eyes cast downwards, neither knowing how exactly to say goodbye.

"I'll come up as often as I can," Giles said suddenly.

"I know." Her voice was warm and soft; she told him with those word that she loved him, Giles knew.

He turned to Jenny with a wan smile, and for a brief moment he caught her looking at him with all the warnings and pleas that she would never ask of him,_ look after yourself, don't do anything crazy, promise you'll come back to us, no matter what_. But then she papered over her fears with a look of resolve and a smile that said she was proud of him, even if she was sad he had to go. He wanted to tell her she didn't have to be strong for him, but he couldn't. He needed to see her putting on a brave face, that's why she did it. So he kissed her instead.

It was a mistake; there was no easy way to say goodbye after, only grasping and clutching, trying to hold each other as closely as possible. The world was ending, the Hellmouth was opening, an army of demons was over-running the earth, and there were moments, only moments, to give one another everything. And never, not once, not even when the linoleum was cold on her back and she gasped and cried things she would never think of saying normally, never did she ask him to promise anything. He wanted to promise her the world: safety, happiness, a future, a normal life, and other things he could never give her. He bit his lip to keep silent, until he tasted blood.

Giles stayed the night, but Jenny made him leave before Anastasia woke up, not wanting to make things harder than they were already.


	4. This Was Real

4.This Was Real

Giles took Willow back to England with him, back to the family home that had been empty and neglected ever since an unknown uncle had died. He decided to wait before starting to help Willow come to terms with her power, to simply give her time to recover from her ordeal first, insofar as recovery was possible. Imagining himself in Willow's position, or rather, remembering the times when he had been in a position like Willow's, Giles knew enough not to push, not so soon.

Instead, he spent his days cleaning the house: going through boxes of knick-knacks, taking sheets off furniture, removing the half-an-inch of dust that had settled on everything, opening windows to let the sunlight in. Sometimes Willow would lend a hand, at first in silence, then gradually, with a comment here and there, starting a light conversation about the house and the things in it. Proving that such conversations were still possible. The first few times they spoke, Giles almost would have described her as fearful, she flinched at the sound of his voice. It was a while until Giles realized that Willow was expecting him to berate her, to bring down verbal hellfire and brimstone, for what she'd done. He was carful to say nothing that could be interpreted as angry or condemning, knowing that before anything else, the understanding between the two of them had to be rebuilt.

Other times, though, Willow sat quietly, watching Giles or staring into space. She spent little time alone.

After about six days of eating take-out, Giles decided to tackle the kitchen. Boxes of pots and pans, flatware, and linen were stacked in the middle of the floor. The oven was black, and everything was coated in dust, cobwebs, and the odd dead insect. So very different from how he remembered it, when it had been filled with people, whether family, or neighbours, or Watchers, filled with colours and noises and smells. Being in the house was as much an emotional journey for Giles as it was for Willow, as he could not help but reflect on who he had been and who he had become. Giles tried very hard not to think of the house as a metaphor for his life.

With a sigh, Giles set to work cleaning the stove.

Willow – who always slept late – came down about an hour later, as he had just moved on to ridding the cupboards of their dust and debris. She wandered in with a distant look that was by now familiar, though Giles still puzzled over what particular regrets were behind it. She sat at the heavy wooden table without acknowledging Giles' presence until he asked her if she wanted breakfast. She nodded absently.

While she had regained the ability to make pleasant conversation when she felt like it, Willow had not yet spoken of what happened in Sunnydale; she hadn't so much as mentioned Tara's name. He wanted to avoid pushing her if he could, but Giles had begun to try to devise a strategy to get Willow to talk, before her feelings became too deeply buried. He was considering various options as he went to turn on the stove, when he heard a choked sob. He turned to see Willow crying.

Giles was sitting at her side immediately. He reached to place a hand on the girl's shoulder, but she shrugged him away. He looked at her imploringly; in his eyes there was a warning about the dangers of shutting others out. Willow noticed and started to speak, reluctantly.

"It's the stove," she said, not meeting Giles' eyes. "I was looking at the stove and thinking about breakfast, and pancakes, a-and T-Tara…" She gulped back tears. "She used to make pancakes in these funny shapes, you know? She tried to get them round, but she couldn't…"

"Willow…" Giles started gently, but was cut off.

"What? Are you gonna try to make me feel better?" she asked so derisively that Giles was taken aback. "You've been so understanding. Are you going to tell me that one day I'll be able to think of her without –" she hiccupped, and her bitterness cracked, "without it hurting so much? I don't want it to stop hurting." Willow sounded defiant, but it was a poor mask, giving way to fear. "What if I forget her?"

Of course. She didn't want understanding. She wanted to suffer, because she was alive and her lover wasn't. "Willow –"

"I don't want it to stop!"

"It won't," Giles said firmly, surprising Willow enough to stop her crying, surprising himself. He stopped to wonder if this was really what Willow needed to hear, or if he could just keep it hidden. Then realized it was already too late, she was watching him, wide-eyed. Giles collected himself, and when he spoke again his voice was measured and thoughtful. "The pain you're feeling… it never goes away. It…" What does it do? He had never had to put it in words before. "It changes, so it's not so much something you're experiencing as it is… a part of you…" He should stop there, no need to go into detail. But Willow was looking at him with the light of comprehension and recognition in her expression. So he continued, "There will be moments when her absence will strike you as though for the first time, out of the blue… You never stop wondering if there wasn't something you could have done better, or differently, that could have changed everything. And you never stop imagining how different things would be, if only she were alive. The pain never leaves you… It becomes your companion; you learn to live with it. But it never goes away." He glanced at Willow for a reaction, but she merely frowned pensively. "Does that make you feel better?"

It wasn't so much that she smiled, as that her expression cleared, as though a cloud had passed. "Yeah."

Giles nodded, and got to his feet to continue making breakfast, suddenly wanting to clear his head of all and any thought.

Willow stood as well, and went to the box of cookware and began sorting through it. Finding a pan, she looked up and noticed Giles watching her questioningly.

"I'll make you some pancakes," she said.


	5. One More Thing That Never Happened

5.One More Thing That Never Happened

As Giles unlocked the door to the old house, Anastasia dashed under his arm and inside. She had run to the other end of the house and back to the front hall before her parents had finished hanging up their coats.

"Are we really going to live here, Daddy?" she asked, literally jumping up and down with excitement, dark eyes sparkling happily. "Are we? Are we? Are w –"

"Yes!" Giles interrupted, patience worn thin after a long plane ride that he had hoped would tire his daughter out.

"Really? All of us?"

"Yes, all of us."

The four year-old responded with a squeal at such a pitch that Giles grimaced. Then she was off and running around the house again, dark curly hair flying behind her.

Jenny was laughing at his expression. Giles tried to glare at her, but found himself smiling instead. It would have been naïve to think that things would be easy after the destruction of Sunnydale; far from naïve, Giles had initially been rather pessimistic. He was still apprehensive about Jenny's insistence that they stick together when he would prefer that she and Anastasia be somewhere safe, especially since anyone, or anything, that had celebrated the destruction of the Council would want to ensure that it was never rebuilt. But at that moment, Giles was with his family, and that was enough to make him happy.

"I suppose that means Ani likes it here," he said.

"Agreed," Jenny nodded and began to take in her surroundings for the first time: detailed woodwork and moldings, thick oriental rugs, antique furniture that she'd be afraid to touch if it hadn't looked so lived-in. "I gotta admit, the place is pretty amazing."

Giles shrugged modestly. "It's just a cottage, really."

Jenny turned to him, eyebrows raised. "A two-story, three-bedroom cottage?"

"W-well, um, yes."

Ani flew into the room. "Daddy! Daddy!"

Jenny crossed her arms and shook her head at Giles. "You British live differently."

He would have responded, if not for the fact that Ani was tugging on his arm rather persistently. "Daddy! Daddy!"

"Yes, dear, what is it?"

"Are there any ghosts in the house? Ghosts are in old places like this, right? Are there ghosts?"

"No –"

Anastasia looked disappointed.

"I'm sure there're plenty of other interesting things," Jenny said in a cheering tone. She gave Giles a sardonic look. "Maybe the 'cottage' has a secret room or something."

"Er… actually, it does."

Ani's face lit up like a sun, while her mother stared. "You're joking!"

Giles shook his head, a little sheepishly. "No."

"Will you show me?" his daughter begged.

Giles groaned inwardly, regretting he had said anything. All he wanted was ten minutes with a cup of tea. "Now isn't the best time." 

"Please show me! Please!"

"Why don't we save that for a rainy day, hm?" Giles said, trying to sound compromising.

"I can't wait that long!" Anastasia exclaimed, horrified.

"We're in England now, honey, it'll be raining in twenty minutes, you'll see," Jenny intervened, ignoring the sideways look she got from Giles. "Have you seen the backyard yet? I hear it's pretty cool."

Ani brightened immediately. "No!"

"Why don't you go check it out?" Jenny suggested with a smile that made the idea seem even more exciting. Her daughter nodded eagerly and ran off again.

Jenny followed her at a slower pace, into the kitchen, Giles trailing behind.

She froze as soon as she set foot in the room. "Oh, wow."

"Do you like it?" Giles asked.

"It's… wow."

Giles smiled, taking her reply as a "yes".

The kitchen was a huge room. An old gas stove stood at one end, a butcher-block table in the centre. There were hooks on the ceiling for hanging pots, or maybe drying herbs, the floor was flagstone, and there was a flower box in the window.

Jenny turned to Giles, grinning. "You're going to make us some amazing meals in here."

"I thought as much myself," he replied wryly.

"Are you cooking?" came Ani's voice from the door. "Can we make cookies?"

They turned to see Ani standing in the doorway, mud up to her shins and all over her hands.

"I want to make gingerbread men." Ani informed them, brushing her hair, which had become quite tangled, out of her face, smearing mud on it in the process.

"'Why don't you check out the backyard,' I believe you said?" Giles commented, and the look of dismay on Jenny's face deepened.

"Come on, Ani, let's get you cleaned up," she said, going to the child and taking one of her muddy hands.

Anastasia glanced down, as if to check that she really did need cleaning, and seemed surprised to discover that she did.

"I'm sorry, Mommy," she said, with genuine regret.

"That's alright," Jenny replied with resignation, as they started to make their way towards the stairs.

"The washroom is the second room on the right," Giles mentioned as they passed, "everything should be there."

Jenny gave him a mock glare, and he smiled smugly.

"Can we make gingerbread men after my bath?" Ani asked.

"Ask your father."

Anastasia looked over her shoulder, and Giles nodded, as it appeared that he would have the chance to relax a bit first. Ani grinned brightly and turned back to her mother.

"Can we make gingerbread men for all our friends? And then everyone can come over to eat them!"

"That sounds like an awesome idea."

"I want to make a gingerbread Buffy."

Giles smiled to himself, listening to their conversation fade up the stairs. Then he found the kettle, filled it with water, and put it on the stove for a pot of tea.


End file.
